Flavor of the Week
by JennaReads
Summary: Edward's a breath away from losing his dream of a successful college football career and a chance in the NFL. Bella's just trying to make it through college without losing her mind in Edward-inspired fantasies. When these two goals intersect, all's fair in love and football.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Twilight's not mine. But I thank Ms Meyer for the inspiration! The original chapter was beta'd by PTB (thanks!) and then a more refined version by Max of The Sparkly Red Pen (thank you!). Any lingering errors are my own.

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_Last year's flood of NFL scouts seems to have dried up for UW's hotshot QB Edward Cullen.  
__Have his off-field antics put paid to his pro prospects?" - College Football Round-Up_

Observers and gossips alike called them flavors of the week for a reason. The girls were all certain to make ESPN, Sports Center, and Pink Cleats highlight films if they kept his attention longer than seven days.

But they never did.

I knew next to nothing about sports, but I'd learned a thing or two about Edward Cullen during my first two years at the University of Washington.

I knew better than to play that game, knew better than to imagine anything as trivial as a relationship with him. Cullen didn't do relationships. To be perfectly blunt, he didn't _do_ girls like me.

But my libido – she was a whore of a different flavor. She wanted to prostrate herself before him, open herself wide and invite him down for a taste. For all my whorish musings, though, I didn't entertain the idea that my particular flavor could entice him into Day Eight. But that realization didn't stop me from indulging in days one through seven fantasies.

But good golly, if only my vocal little whorish self could convince good girl Bella to at least try.

My skin positively tingled in his presence. I'd read my fair share of romance novels – and then some! I'd read about the electric current on contact with _The One_. The quickening pulse, the shallow breath, the heated skin...

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. The novels were pathetic when held up against my twice weekly Cullen-inspired fantasies. Incomplete, faulty shadows of this reality, I mused, gazing at the back of his head. The renditions of infatuation in those novels fell far short of how I felt in the presence of Edward Cullen, quarterback extraordinaire and Udub's claim to football glory.

I shared one class with him: Advertising and Market Research. I craved anonymity so hovered near the back of the lecture hall. Edward, who I couldn't imagine having ever experienced an anonymous moment in his gilded life, sat front and center, hedged in by giggling sorority girls, jocks, and assorted hangers-on.

I recognized this attraction for what it was: a carnal response to a sadistically attractive man. Moth to flame. Craving the forbidden, the unattainable. From my spot behind him, all I could see was wide, muscular shoulders, a thick, heavily corded neck and shaggy hair some sexy shade between auburn and brown.

When I thought about this attraction with my logical, good girl self, who also sneered at how much time I wasted drooling over the delicious Mr. Cullen, I knew he wasn't someone I really wanted to be with. I didn't really even _know_ him. How could I want someone I didn't know? This was purely physical, that trite animal attraction the romance novels loved to carry on about but managed to convey only a pale shadow of the pure lust I felt in the mere presence of this man.

But that understanding didn't stave off the craving. The burning just beneath the surface of my skin that would only be assuaged by his touch. The sensible acknowledgment didn't stop the over-the-top lurid fantasies – and certainly didn't put an end to the Tuesday and Thursday morning daydreams I'd entertained since beginning my second to last year at Udub.

Something whizzed past my right ear and my gaze snapped to the brightly-colored candy as it disappeared under a desk that the sugar addict in me instantly recognized. Who would waste an M&M like that? I slanted a mean look at Alice. Alice made googly eyes at me, and I knew she'd busted me mooning over Edward – yet again. I slouched down on the desk and focused on the professor.

Edward Cullen was not the only male in the room and when it got right down to it, he wasn't even the most important male in the room.

I focused on Professor Banner droning on and on in his boring monotone. Images flashed on the huge screen behind him.

"You'll be designing an ad campaign from top to bottom," he finished, flipping off the screen. "Your score will account for fifty percent of your final grade. Groups assigned today are permanent; no drama, no changes. I have absolutely no interest in your thoughts or opinions of your assigned partners. Who you get today is who you're stuck with for the duration, so suck it up."

I snorted a little laugh. One of the things I most appreciated about this professor was his directness. He seldom left any ambiguity to what he wanted; he made it perfectly clear. He began to count off students before anyone had time to put up a fuss. He pointed to the far right of the room, first desk, bottom row. "One," he said and continued pointing.

"Two," the next student called out. So on and so forth. Edward's deep voice laughed out a seven, which caused a few snickers and giggles. Seven happened to be his jersey number, too. The next seven was a student I didn't know, a slender guy with pale hair and a nervous demeanor. The next was one of the _Plastic Janes_.

Alice and I had contrived the tag one boring night to label girls who made it more than obvious that their desire to achieve social success far outranked their hopes for academic achievement here in the Land of College. They endeavored to snare the ultimate _Trophy Boyfriend – _acquiring a degree was just incidental, unless it was a coveted MRS degree. Harsh, terribly judgmental of us, but as I saw said Plastic toss her board-straight blonde hair over her shoulder in a classic Plastic Jane move, I couldn't be too hard on myself. She was already preening for the infamous Cullen. I already felt pity for the rest of that group-

"Six."

Oh no...I inhaled a sharp breath, darting a startled look to my left, to the student who'd just called out "six" beside me. No, no, no. The gods couldn't be so cruel...Oh, but it seemed they could. "Seven." My voice squeaked. I cleared my throat and said it again as though repeating it would cement this disastrous moment firmly in my brain. "Seven."

Alice laughed as she called out her stupid, overly lucky "Eight!" I shoved a book sitting on her desk, feeling childish but entitled as I slumped down in my chair. How the hell would I survive the semester stuck in a project group with my fantasy guy?

"That's gonna be all kinds of fun, Bella." She laughed again, but before I could share my opinion, she'd swiveled in her chair to search out the rest of her group.

Alice assumed I was just crushing on the too-handsome-for-my-own-good quarterback, but I knew it wasn't that simple. I'd crushed before. Who hadn't? Those classic feelings - all fluttery, light, and effervescent – they came and went with the seasons. They left you feeling, well...all fluttery and light and effervescent.

That was not at all what I experienced when my thoughts settled on Edward. My gaze drifted to him, yet again. He was tall, built, hotter than should be humanly possible, with that edge of unattainability just suckering a girl in. Yes, what I felt should be all fluttery and light.

Instead, I yearned to score my nails down the wide expanse of his chest, to open my mouth and drag my tongue along the sensual curve between his throat and shoulder. I wanted to mark him, carve myself into him until I was as under his skin as he was mine, until his every breath was flavored with my scent, until his eyes burned with my image, only mine. I wanted to possess him. And worse, I wanted to be possessed _by_ him, in every dark and sensual way my torrid little mind could conjure up.

I dragged in a deep shuddery breath, forced it out slow and even. I needed to get a grip.

My future was laid out before me and a quickie with the campus super player didn't figure into it. I knew myself, and I couldn't handle a quickie fuck with no attachments. The blonde Plastic Jane slipped smoothly from her seat to saunter toward Edward. His head tilted down in her direction, his body language confident and easy. With that little tableau unfolding before me, I couldn't helped but be reminded that I wasn't his type either, even if I could handle some nebulous non-relationship with him. I had to smirk at myself. Here I was shooting him down in my mind, when in reality, the man had never even noticed me, not in two years.

The sounds of desks scraping and conversation starting signaled the end of class, pulling me out of my silliness. Groups were trading contact info and picking up the project plan from down front. The Jane and the boy I didn't know were already chatting with Edward.

I turned to find Alice to see if I could drag her down with me, chicken that I am. But she was still bouncing from foot to foot with three other girls, her project group, apparently. Lucky her. Looked like I'd have to suck it up and go meet my own all by my lonesome.

_Big girl panties, Swan. Move it!_

One foot in front of the other, I cautiously made my way down the huge steps that still managed to worry me and my clumsy self and approached the other Sevens. The Jane was still flirting, spreading her version of college love, so I dashed past them for the project papers stacked on the professor's desk. Grabbing four, I turned back to my group.

"Mid-afternoon doesn't work for me this week. Coach has us doing two-a-days."

God, even his voice slid right through me, stealing my breath and threatening to leave me a puddle of goo on the floor. I stiffened my spine and crept closer. Best to get a date settled on quickly, exchange our deets and get the hell out of here. Much longer and I'd run out of oxygen and backbone.

"We'll need to exchange numbers, Edward, so we can coordinate study times," Jane murmured suggestively. How did she do that? Work that inviting tone into such a simple sentence? Was Effective Seductive Communication a Freshman class I missed?

He dug his phone out of his jeans pocket and gave it to her, sleazeball player that he was.

I ripped a page from my notepad, tore it in pieces and wrote my number down three times before passing it to my fellow Sevens. I avoided eye contact with any of them. Plastic Jane took the scrap but didn't look up from Edward's phone; Edward did one of those male chin lifts, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. Janes had uniforms and cleavage guidelines for membership. Blondie excelled in the skimpy reveal-all shirt department as Edward's appreciative observation attested. The last of our group took my scrap and passed me one of his own.

_Mike_ and a number was scrawled across the otherwise blank white scrap. I looked up and dared to meet his eyes. He grimaced at me, and I knew he was wondering if he was doomed to either fail or do all the work on this project himself. It was more than evident Edward and the blonde were making plans for something besides an A&M study session. I tried to convey with a look that I was on board, ready to fully participate, so he wasn't totally screwed. He nodded in acknowledgment.

"So," he muttered then, breaking into the whisperings between our other partners. "No mid-afternoons, but what about mornings or evenings?"

Before I could respond, Cullen pulled his attention from the blonde. "Nights work best for me, man."

"Just not Wednesday night." I had a standing appointment, something that couldn't be changed.

Irina, as identified by the second slip of paper in my hand, practically crooned her own response. "How about tonight? At least to start, until we work out a regular schedule."

Cullen nodded. "Text me a time and place, babe. No earlier than eight." This was directed to Irina and an instant later, Edward Cullen strode away.

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A/N: Thanks so much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Twilight's not mine. But I thank Ms Meyer for the inspiration! The original chapter was beta'd by PTB (thanks!) and then a more refined version by Max of The Sparkly Red Pen (thank you!). Any lingering errors are my own. The following is EPOV.

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_While much has been said about Edward Cullen's Touchdown/Interception ratio  
and his completion percentages, we'd rather take a minute to comment on his aesthetics.  
Girls, have you see the ass on that boy? - The Pink Cleats Football Blog_

"Cullen!"

My gaze shot up towards Coach.

"Showers then my office ASAP!"

I dipped my chin in acknowledgment before taking off at a jog toward the locker room and showers.

The bullshit was gonna kill me. I wanted to play ball. That was all I ever wanted to do. Sometimes the distractions made that simple fact slip my mind, but I was back with the program, stronger than ever, right? I was the first to arrive to practices, one of the last to leave. If Coach meant to yank my leash—a-fucking-gain—I was gonna lose my shit. But a call to his office could only mean more drama, more bullshit interrogations.

Emmett tossed me a knowing side-long smirk as I made my way from the showers to Coach's office. Fucker never actually said I told you so, but he'd nailed that look our Freshman year.

I banged a knuckle against the doorjamb leading into Coach's office. He sat behind the desk, a can of Coke in one hand, his phone in the other at his ear as he leaned back in his chair. He caught my look and nodded me into one of the two chairs fronting his desk. I plopped into the first and waited my turn.

"Yeah, Aro, I got it. Understood you the first time you laid this out. Not sure why you felt the need to crawl up my ass about it again tonight."

Fuck, Aro Volturi, head of the university Athletics Programs. The dude in charge of who came, who stayed and ultimately, who played.

Coach closed their conversation with a grunt before shoving his phone into his breast pocket. "Cullen, I hate those calls." He narrowed his dark eyes at me, and I shifted uneasily in my chair. What was it this time? I'd been mostly sober since the summer, no public brawling, no police escorts..."The media won't let that last wreck die, Cullen."

"Fuck, Coach, that's ancient history-"

"The second half of your last season was in the toilet. Between the alcohol, the multiple MVAs...To say you're on thin ice is candy-coating the situation."

"Coach, I'm focused this year. You asked for my promise and I gave it."

He nodded, and I felt my lungs loosen up a little.

"You did, Cullen, and so far this year, I'm impressed. You're back to what we scouted, better even. But I'm not the only one you need to impress. Volturi has people riding his ass just like I ride the players. They want a star player. They want what you teased them with the first half of last season." He stood, came around and leaned a hip against the front edge of his desk. I rubbed my hands along my jeans, tilted my head up to meet his gaze. "They don't want some shithead punk who thinks the rules don't apply to him, who's an embarrassment to the team or the school getting the wrong sort of headlines. And frankly, they won't put up with your crap this year. You have to pull it together and keep it together."

I jumped to my feet, my hands tightened into fists. "That's not fucking fair, Coach. I promised straight and narrow, and I have been fucking _golden_ since fall practices started-"

"Except for the partying, the stupid antics. The campus paper loves you – loves the _Flavors of the Week_. Then there are the damn NFL scout reports. Those things used to be sealed up tighter than Fort Knox, but not anymore. And by the end of last season, yours tanked."

I gritted my teeth, but what could I say? Last year, my nights were filled with parties, alcohol and girls. This year, no car, no MVAs, and I'd tried to keep things low-key, but there was always the next party.

"Sam Uley, one of our biggest football boosters, as you know, wants to meet with you. He's going to help you out, Edward, and I want you to hear him out. Listen to what he says. And, boy, I mean this. Listen close if you wanna survive college football and have a chance at a pro career. If ever a man had the skill, you do, just don't piss it all away."

Coach turned to walk back behind his desk, dismissing me. I shoved up and moved through the door, speechless.

Last year, my first year as starting QB, shit, it'd gone to my head. The attention, the fucking _God_ status that came with being the best sophomore quarterback the school'd ever seen. By the end of the year, I'd wrecked two cars and ended up in the hospital after the second, along with my passenger. We'd both ultimately walked out of there, but it'd made the papers in a big way, all the football blogs, and had been a wake-up call for the school.

They'd threatened to drop me from the team, which would leave me to find another school. But at that point, I had a well-documented history of shit behavior and underage drunken revelry. I wouldn't find another school like UDub, not where I could play ball and have a chance at the pros. The dweeb goody-two shoes types like Tebow and Luck had ruined it for the rest of us. And I wanted to play in the NFL. I lived, breathed, slept NFL football. That career would be mine.

I made my way to my locker, grabbed my crap, and headed out toward the library. It was already a little after eight, and I had that stupid A&M project study group to deal with. The blonde, what was her name? Shit if I could remember her name, but her tits stood out and damn near spoke for themselves. I shoved a hand through my hair. Fuck, that was exactly what I didn't need to be thinking about. Fucking a study partner was guaranteed trouble. I needed to at least wait till the end of the project.

I jogged up the steps to the Odegaard library, shoved open the glass doors and made my way to the second floor and the study rooms. Checking the text from the blonde again, I headed to the second room.

I was late, last to arrive. The blonde hottie, the nerdy douche and the brunette girl were already sitting at the table. I dropped into the vacant chair at the head table and aimed for polite when I asked, "So what's the deal?"

The nerd started in explaining the project, the due dates, even laying out a rough schedule for us to get together. He kept eying the dark-haired girl, but as far as I could tell, she never looked up from whatever she was doodling in her notebook. The blonde, Irina, nodded when put on the spot, but mostly just eyed me, her fingers playing with her hair. I ignored her.

I knew most people assumed I was a dumb jock, and I wouldn't claim to be Einstein, but I could hold my own. Last year, I'd come close to flunking out, but not because of failing projects or tests, just for not taking them or turning shit in. I'd fucked up; I knew it and I was committed to getting my shit together this year and proving to the Huskies and the scouts that I was the real deal.

I shifted in my chair for the fiftieth damn time, but subtle wasn't working to get Irina's fucking hand off my fucking thigh, so I accidentally knocked my pen to the floor. When I leaned down to retrieve it, I knocked her hand away and reached for my pen. Across from her, the brunette's foot bounced like a little energizer bunny. It struck me as weird. She was as still and quiet as a nun above the table, but underneath her foot bounced and shimmied to a rhythm only she heard.

Then I spotted it, maybe an inch wide but long enough to wind up in dark tones from her toes to around her ankle. A tattoo of musical notes. I narrowed my gaze at her slender foot. A specific pattern of notes, a guitar riff I recognized, curled and flexed with the rip and force of the music it depicted along her pale skin. The artwork was fucking awesome, well done, almost three dimensional. It so surprised me, I knocked my head against the underside of the table. "Fuck me."

Instantly her foot froze, shifting to lock behind her other ankle in a classic lady-like pose. Unable to resist, I trailed my gaze up the length of her toned, exposed leg to the tops of her thighs and the little jean skirt she wore. She posed herself so that nothing was revealed, and hell yeah, I looked. Just then her hand came into view, tugging at the bottom of her skirt and I felt busted, even though I knew she couldn't possible know I was checking for panties.

"Edward?"

I rolled my eyes at Irina's voice and shoved back into the chair. Twirling the stupid pen between my fingers in explanation, I jotted something down so I didn't look like a moron. But I couldn't resist slanting another look at the girl. Dark hair in a boring pony tail, pale skin, nondescript clothes, no make-up. She was the antithesis of hot, bundled up virgin-tight and so fucking quiet I was dying to just yell "BOO!" to see if she'd do more than blink at me. I shook my head, dipping my gaze down to the pages in front of me.

She was nothing special, nothing to grab my attention.

Except a question lingered in my mind, persistent and fucking annoying. What was a girl like her doing with a sexy-as-fuck Smashing Pumpkins guitar riff tattooed on her ankle?

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A/N: Thanks's for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. Thank you, Ms Meyer, for such lovely characters.

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_A Cullen Comeback? 2012 started with a bang and ended in a whimper. _

_Dare Cullen raise our hopes again? ~ Scout Web_

I leapt out of the car before Alice could resume her interrogation, slamming the door behind me, and hustling toward the door of the rink. On the short drive from campus to the indoor skate rink, she'd made it clear she wanted every detail from last night's study session. More precisely, she wanted every last detail of my interaction with Edward. I did a mental sigh. She was the best friend I'd ever had, and I wanted to share every detail with her, but as close as we were, she just didn't understand this little facet of my personality. Her lack of understanding was totally understandable, considering I didn't understand it, either.

I heard Alice following close behind and hoped she would at least try not to make a spectacle of us in the parking lot. She wouldn't hesitate to ask a million and a half questions, bombard me with her need for details, and I really didn't want to answer in front of the Littles team. But she still managed to beat me to the door, leaning her light weight against it and preventing me from entering.

I slanted her a rude look, then another over the parking lot. So far, we were alone in the covered alcove entrance, so I caved. "We didn't even really talk at the study session. He just sorta sat there." Looking divine, I admitted to myself. "Irina kept flirting with him, but he seemed mostly oblivious. It was a short meeting, just long enough for us to lay the groundwork, you know? Figure out when we would meet, who would do what. He barely spoke."

Alice crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze taking me in as though weighing my words. "You didn't even speak, did you?"

No, I thought. I didn't really. I sat there, foot bouncing like a jackhammer on speed. Hard to think rationally when all I could really grasp was that Edward Cullen was in the same tiny study room as me. Practically alone, if a girl ignored the other two people. Which in my fantasies, I always managed. And then when he'd ducked beneath the table to get his pen? My mind had leapt to all sorts of dirty places, imagining what he could do in that particular position.

Alice huffed, impatient.

I flushed. "No," I finally conceded.

This was one of those times. One of those times when I really wished my lack of comfort in the presence of Cullen wasn't so amazingly obvious. I wasn't really this shy. It was ridiculous. Wasn't like I was a virgin. And I didn't act this way with all guys. "No, I didn't actually talk to him. Never directly, at least."

Alice blew out a long breath, poofing out her shaggy blue-black bangs, something clouding her dark eyes, then turned back to the door. She pulled it open and I followed slowly. No way was she giving in that easily. I'd disappointed my friend, obviously. And now I was disappointed in myself. A little spark of rebellion made me add, "It's not like I'm going to date him. And the project will last all semester, too. This was only the first session, Alice. We'll be meeting every Monday night."

Her friend continued toward the wall of lockers against the far end of the skate rink. Flat track practice for the Littles team of the Seattle Slammers roller derby league would begin in just a few minutes and as their coaches, Alice and I had to be ready to skate with them, demonstrate techniques and up their performance. Alice reached the bench fronting the lockers. She kicked of her blue peep toes as she plopped her bright pink equipment bag down. I followed, watching her with a sense of caution. Alice in a thinking mood made me more than a little nervous.

Finally, she answered as she started unloading gear. "I know, Bella. But this is kinda a big deal for you."

I yanked my own skates out of my tattered bag. "Not really."

"It is. It _so_ is." Alice yanked open the locker, pulling down an assortment of pads and shoving them on with sharp jerky motions. "It is such a big deal."

My own pads were in my bag, so I snatched them out. I'd been right, Alice wasn't going to let this go easily, but she was coming at me from such a different direction, I struggled with how to respond. The girls on the team were starting to wander in, making their way to the lockers. None close enough yet to really hear us, but upping my anxiety.

Raised by an ultra private grandmother, I was pretty much neurotic when it came to people knowing my business. Back home, it seemed everyone already did – and with a mother like mine, there was always plenty to know. People looked at me with certain expectations, surprised when I didn't follow in my mother's reckless footsteps. Except Grams. She always knew what to expect from me and I never disappointed her. Coming out west for school was as close to a disappointment that I'd ever handed her, but she'd quickly grasped my reasoning and supported the move. But regardless of the distance from home, I'd yet to give up my fear of disappointing those I cared about. And since beginning U'Dub two years ago, Alice sat at the top of that list.

But while I didn't want to disappoint Alice and was so grateful for her getting me out and about, out and about just could not include Edward Cullen. "Not really a big deal."

She slammed her locker closed and I snapped upright at the loud crash. A second later, my gaze darted around to see if any of the Littles had noticed, and while several looked our way, none made any moves to join us. Their faces were animated, excited to be here tonight and practice. One or two of them would be joining the flat track roller derby league next year and took these practices very seriously. Even as they painted their faces and picked out just the right skull and cross bones knee highs and their derby names, they wanted to be good enough to win. We wanted that for them, too.

Alice stomped her foot into her pink skates and I practically held my breath as I did the same. Finally, she erupted. "Bella Marie Swan, don't be a fake." Her furious whisper ripped through me, sharp and painful. "I'm so tired of you hiding away in your dorm, scared to death to cause any ripples in the perfect plans you and your Grams have for your perfect little life. Pretending you have no nerve, when really you're as ballsy as they come."

She plodded awkwardly in the skates over and onto the slick surface of the ring. Far enough away from me that she had to raise her voice to be heard when she added, "I think you hide behind those excuses, the shy girl who's not really shy at all." She twirled in a tight little circle. "I'm going to ask Jasper out."

"What?" Where had that come from? "The dj?"

"Yep. Gonna just go for it. If I can make the first move on a guy, so can you."

"Alice," I groaned, tightening the laces on my plain black skates. "Your logic defies reason."

"Only in your too-smart-for-your-own-good, overly analytical brain, Bella Swan." She pushed off, heading toward the little knot of teens warming up.

I had absolutely no idea what the hell Alice was talking about, but she'd said the last loud enough that the Littles grasped the opportunity to call out their hellos and what's ups. Heat flushed my cheeks, but I pushed onto the rink and started skating quickly toward everyone. Determined to be all business and no-nonsense coach, I barked out orders for the girls to start laps. Alice laughed, unfooled, but she fell in on the outside of the girls. We skated, picking up speed, until everyone forgot Alice's taunting and focused instead on keeping up.

The Littles were the teen team of the local roller derby league that competed in and around Seattle. Alice and I had joined the roster our first semester at school two years ago and no matter how heavy our loads, we always made time for practice and as many of the local bouts as we could manage. I skated jammer and freaking loved every minute of my time on the flat track, savoring the opportunity to actually get physical and compete with something more than words and grade point averages.

We set the girls to their drills, practicing passes, jumps and spins. Alice took the opportunity to sidle close and the twenty minute respite I'd had came to an abrupt end. "If he says yes, what're you going to do?"

Sometimes, I swore she spoke Martian. "Huh?"

"I'm asking Jasper out. He's doing the Huskie's send off Friday. We're going. And when he says yes, what are you going to do?"

I slanted her a mystified look. "Say congrats?"

She knocked her shoulder against mine, making me struggle on the skates to stay upright. She didn't take her gaze from the girls to say, "He's my Edward, Bella. I do it, you do it. That's how it is with friends. Haven't I taught you that yet?"

No, not unh, not happening. Alice may be my first close girlfriend, but nope, no way. "I'll say congrats."

"You go all googly-eyed around him, every time, for two years, Bella. Two years! Why don't you want to do something about it?"

Here was a perfect example, I thought. Alice knew very well why. She just didn't get it, didn't agree. She could probably recite my arguments from the past _two years_, all the reasons I'd given since setting eyes on Cullen freshman year, but she just didn't see the problem. For Alice, it was all about the next adventure, the next drama, the next challenge. She never failed, she simply had "delayed successes". I couldn't imagine always being so filled with happy expectation. Instead, I lived with bated-breath, wondering what pitfall would next sabotage my meticulously designed path. And instinct told me Edward Cullen had the potential to be the greatest pitfall of my life. With nothing much better to say, I settled on, "It's just not that simple, Alice."

She skated over to Shawna, one of the more aggressive players who looked like she was preparing to plow through a line of her teammates. Just before she was out of ear shot, I heard, "You'll double with me and Jasper, or else."

Meagan slid into the space next to me. Meagan was one of my favorites. Her small frame was deceptive, as she was a great, aggressive player, fast and agile on the track and excel as a jammer. I wondered why she lingered at my side as everyone drilled, but after a few minutes, she spoke in her soft way. "She's right, you know, Bella."

I inhaled sharply. Just what I didn't want. I chewed my lip, not sure I could cut gentle, sweet Meagan off, but resisting the idea of her commenting on my life choices. Before I could do anything, she continued. "You remember when I first started coming to practices at the beginning of the summer? I'd never even been on a team before, Bella, and wouldn't have come to the try-out except for Shawna. I came 'cause she didn't want to be on her own and now I love derby and everything about it. She knew I would and reminds me so after every practice."

"It's not the same, Meagan, not even a little."

She skated in a little circle around me, fussing with the flippy tail of her braided brown hair and I could see the indecision in her expression. Then her face softened and she met my gaze. "Sometimes you just gotta go along for the kicks, ya know? Trust your girl to have your back and just go with it until everything else just clicks."

She skated off then, fast and furious, joining the pack speeding in circles around the track, jumping obstacles and practicing crosses. To be honest, I totally did not understand how Meagan's advice could be applied to my situation, but something had to change or Alice would never forgive me.

The rest of practice passed uneventfully. The reality of the situation was that I was committed to a study group that included Edward Cullen. There would be no more admiring him from a distance, daydreaming lurid little fantasies from the safety of anonymity twice a week – three now with the stupid study session. Every Monday night I would be locked up with him and two other students for two torturous hours. I needed to yank on my big girl panties and make grown up decisions.

By the end of practice, as we were changing out of our gear, I'd come to a bit of a scary conclusion and needed to let Al know. I sidled close, kept my voice low and whispered to my bestie. "Here's the deal: You do your thing with the dj, and I'll be open to whatever happens with Edward. I won't ask him out, Alice. It's just not going to happen, but I promise to talk to him, to act like a normal girl around him. Best I can offer…"

She stared into her locker as my heart pounded in my chest. Finally, she nodded. "I'll take it."

* * *

A/N: This chapter is unbeta'd. Got a little anxious to get things rolling, so put it up without being beta'd. The next few chapters will probably also be unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine. At some point, I envision a few revisions, so they'll be reposted all shiny and new then.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Twilight's not mine. But I thank Ms Meyer for the inspiration! The following is EPOV. This alternating POV may continue (well, it does for at least a few more chapters) but it may also change depending on what comes to mind.

* * *

_Blonde, brunette, redhead? Statistics show Cullen prefers_

_his flavors come blonde by some 62%. ~ Football Fantasies Blog_

Raucous laughter, loud conversation, louder music, and the latest video war game all competed inside the otherwise staid two-story home. But even off campus, I knew the eyes were on me. I was expected to cut loose, get up to my usual antics that made me not only the team leader, but the life of the every party for the last year. But Coach's warning hummed in my ear, so I kept things simple, a few chin lifts and knuckle bounces with the guys, all the while avoiding eye contact with the girls or lingering too long near any of the guys. I had no fucking patience to make conversation. How did Sam Uley figure we could "meet" in such a public setting?

I made my way into the kitchen, propped back against the kitchen island and watched over the counters as people hooked up and otherwise partied on a random Wednesday night. Yeah, it was just the start of the semester, but getting wasted mid-week was not on my agenda. I poured a ginger ale and settled in to watch and wait.

Jason Pines, a second-string defensive lineman and bench warmer, strolled up to the center island and started pouring himself a drink from the assorted bottles. He addressed me in a low tone, barely audible over the racket. "He's upstairs, in my dad's office. Third door on the left."

I narrowed my gaze at Pines, then eased back with my own glass of ginger ale. I lifted my glass in thanks before strolling deeper into the house. I threaded my way through the bodies, stopping every so often to BS with my guys, but steadily moving closer to the stairs.

Within twenty minutes, I'd made my way to the foot of the stairs. Private meetings with boosters would be frowned on by the NCAA and certain university admins, but with the whole team here, it could probably be excused. Regardless, taking this risk at Coach's direction was pretty ironic. Here the Coach was lecturing me to stay within the lines of good behavior while at the same time sending me here to potentially break all sorts of rules.

When two guys started screaming at each other over some bullshit black ops video game drawing the attention of everyone in the room, I pivoted on my heel and bolted up the stairs two at a time until I hit the landing, then hurried into the hall and out of view.

It was early enough that people were still downstairs and not fucking the night away in every halfway hidden space up here. I reached the third door, twisted the knob and shoved inside.

Sitting in one of two leather chairs angled in front of a fireplace was Sam Uley. He had that same fake look on his face that always made me want to take a swing. Uley owned half a dozen car dealerships and fast food restaurants throughout the city. But those were his hobby, his gimmie jobs for relatives and idiot players. He apparently made his real cash with some sort of investment firm. I didn't know the details and until Coach told me to expect this meeting, I hadn't really known much about Uley other than his fake ass showed at every team event. But since being told to show or else tonight, I'd asked around and done the whole Google thing.

What I'd learned so far had the hair on the back of my neck prickling. Uley poured a lot of cash into the university - both the athletic department and academics. He was a leader in the alumni and spearheaded at least one major fundraiser every year. He didn't have a building named after himself yet, but the school liked him and the athletic department damn near worshiped him.

Uley stood as I approached, with a welcoming handshake and smile that didn't sit quite right on his face. I resisted the urge to rub the hairs on the back of my neck down.

"Edward," he said as he gripped my hand in that way weak men do when they're trying to impress. "Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I'm a huge fan, you know."

I nodded, coming close to rolling my eyes. Agreeing to meet with him, huh? Like I'd been left any fucking choice.

He motioned me into the other chair. "Ready for the big opener next week?"

I settled in, taking my time before answering. I reminded myself that Uley didn't have all the power in this conversation. Yeah, he could effect whether or not I played, but he, and most every other Husky fan, wanted me on the field. They wanted the skill I brought to the game. "Ready as I'll ever be, Mr. Uley."

"Caught the last scrimmage. Looking good, my boy, looking really good."

I listened as Uley shared more of what I already knew. I couldn't throw a bad ball. No QB in the conference had a better arm or better footwork. And no player on the field had better instincts. No shit.

"ESPN rolled some footage of your last open practice. You must have seen that, right? Some plays from the good games last season. Nick Sampson is positive you're going to hand us the conference title this year.

And the ESPN commentator wouldn't be wrong, I thought. But I said, "That's the plan."

Uley leaned back in his chair, eyes on me, assessing. Then abruptly, he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. He leaned in further like he was getting ready for a little man-to-man chat with his favorite son. "But then they ran the photo of your wrecked Z. And edited versions of the photos that circulated on Twitter and Facebook - you know the ones I mean, Edward? The ones with you and not one, but two girls and a pool table. And while the edited versions of the photos did little to disguise what was going on, Samson went ahead and reminded the national viewing audience - and this was ESPN, so what, maybe a few hundred thousand people? - that those pictures preceded your being taken into police custody. Not arrested. They made a point of emphasizing that. Not arrested, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. But police custody, which is bad enough. Reminded everyone about the partying, the underage drinking, and the losses of the last four games last year."

Just like Uley was reminding me now. Yeah, asshole, I remember last year just fine, thank you very much. I concentrated on not crushing the plastic cup of ginger ale and let Uley get it all out.

"Edward, there's no question in anyone's mind that you're the best quarterback for the Huskies. But the University of Washington has never made athletics a top priority. They won't suffer embarrassment, and certainly not on a national scale. Between Penn State and Ohio State, the press is hungry for the next scandal. Coach and I had to really put our necks out there to keep you on the roster. The university wanted to release you for conduct unbecoming. Between the bad press and the academic issues, you're persona non grata as far as the university admins are concerned."

Irritation burned just under my skin and I could feel my temper prickling, getting ready to fire off and cause me more shit. I concentrated on unclenching my jaw and responding in a voice slightly lower than a yell. "Coach asked for my promise before I ever set foot on campus again this year—"

Uley leaned back again, abandoning his fake man-to-man camaraderie. "Yeah, but we've come to realize that's just not going to cut it."

"My practices are damn near perfect—"

"Wins are what matters, and the school's reputation." Uley interrupted again and I realized it was a power move, his effort to show a little dominance and that set fire to my temper like nothing else could. In my mind, I could hear my father doing the same thing, forcing me in the direction he wanted me to go.

But unlike when I was a kid, I had some leverage here and I wasn't above using it. "As big a fan as you are, Mr. Uley, I'm sure you've seen the latest scout reports - the scouts fucking love me. And the commentators, love me or hate me, all have me in the running for the Heisman."

"And that's news, big news. Which means all eyes are going to be on you. Will you have a killer year or crash and burn like last season? You've already set a precedent, Cullen, and you're asking us to trust in little more than a boy's promise to be good. To invest the school's resources and reputation in a kid who fucked up so bad he landed himself and an innocent girl in the hospital less than a six months ago."

I slumped back into my chair. There was no escaping that uncomfortable truth. I'd hesitate to call the girl innocent, but everything else was spot on. I'd made a promise. Big fucking deal. I nodded at Uley, meeting the other man's eyes as he waited.

"Edward, son, we want you to succeed. We, the boosters, the school, your success is our success. You go on to a professional career - that only looks good for us, you know? So hear me out. We think this sets you up for the best possible chance in the drafts, and it gets the Huskies what they need - butts in the stadium and positive recognition on a national stage. So, again, hear me out. We've come up with a list of stipulations – things that will get us both what we want in the end."

I shifted in the suddenly uncomfortable chair, feeling like I was in the principles office with no hope of escape. What the fuck? If my school was laying "stipulations" on me, I might as well be in kindergarten.

"First, you move back in to the athletics dorm. You'll room with Emmett, which Coach says you won't hate as you both came from the same high school, right?"

I nodded, but really, what did my agreement matter?

"Second, obviously, no drinking, no drugs, nothing illegal that will land you in front of a cop."

I rolled my eyes at this one. Obviously. I lifted the fucking plastic glass of ginger ale. Uley grinned, enjoying himself a little too much.

"Third, you agree to a girlfriend."

I stated at him. Something in my expression must have clued him in to my astonishment, for he leaned back again in his chair with an exasperated sigh. That pissed me off even more. "You fucking kidding me?"

Uley held out his hands, palms down – as though to press some patience into me. Good fucking luck with that; I had none.

"Seriously, Mr. Uley," I struggled to moderate my tone, but that was the best I could do. "You have to be kidding me."

"No, Edward. It's no joke, no one's kidding around here. You agree to no alcohol, no toxic publicity, a curfew. And the girlfriend. You're attention stays focused on the game. You lose the distractions, your game improves and you'll be a better player and better for the school, better than ever. You have the girlfriend, the gossips get bored, forget about everything except your next game. The scouts see your focus, it will make an impression. You take us to the national championship, you're set."

This time it was me flopping back into my chair. My heart was pounding, my mouth dry and I didn't know exactly what all I was feeling. Anger was the most dominant, but something that tasted uncomfortably like fear also circled like a hungry shark. This man could end my career right now. And though I'd known my fuck up was of astronomical proportions, at this moment, it bore down on me with unrelenting intensity.

"…my niece."

I stiffened. He'd said something important there, something I'd missed. "What was that?"

Uley's mouth tightened. "My niece, Leah, is a student here. She's a model student and would be perfect for our purposes. I could speak with her. You two might—"

"You're even going to pick out the girlfriend?"

"Not exactly. She's just a suggestion. She's pre-med, an exemplary student. She'd fill the need you have perfectly."

I lurched up from the chair, my chest too tight. "I need some time, Mr. Uley. Need to think about everything."

Uley rose, as well. "You have until Monday. Play your game Saturday; remember how good it feels to be in the spotlight for the right reasons." He stood back, motioned for me to pass. "But let's be honest here, Edward. It's already decided. You agree to these terms or Saturday is the last game you ever play for the Huskies."

Cold washed over me. My parent's faces flashed in my mind. Images of sitting on the living room couch, watching the game, critiquing the last call, predicting the next play…year after year until it was an ingrained part of our existence passed lightning quick. What would Dad say if I called him and said I was off the team? Last year had been hard enough; this would end our relationship as I knew it. "I'll be in touch by Monday."

Uley let me leave at that point without another word. I flew through the doorway, out into the hall. As I jogged down the stairs, I moved with a lot less care than when I'd come up. But my mind was reeling, my gut churning. I felt sick, trapped.

I brushed by my teammates and the others partying the night away in the lower level of the house, shoving out the front door, moving fast until I could sling myself into the relative privacy of my car. Even then, I could see people standing up on the porch, pointing at me and waving me to come back inside.

If Uley was right about one thing, it was this. I didn't have a prayer of not attracting attention. Last year, I'd eaten that up. Loved the adulation and attention. I could practically hear my mother's voice crooning hindsight's twenty-twenty. Yeah, Mom, it sure as fuck was.

Driving demanded enough of my attention that I was able to get a handle on my breathing, fight down the roiling nausea in my stomach. I wasn't far from campus, and the hour was early enough that there was still traffic. What Uley was proposing wasn't even legal. But legality and reality were not much compatible in this circumstance. I bucked Uley and ended up not playing for at least a year. Should I take the chance that another school would pick me up? Lose a year of play, even if they did? End up at a Podunk school out of the eyes of the pro scouts?

No, I'd be agreeing to these restrictions, but I still had to wrap my head around everything. The worst, of course, was the stupid-ass set-up girlfriend. No way could I handle that. I had to find a way to negotiate my way into something I could at least stomach and didn't make me feel entirely like a stud for hire.


	5. Chapter 5

Usual Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are the creation of Ms Meyer.

* * *

"His coaches call him the most dynamic athlete they've ever seen. _Expectations are high for the Huskies this year, based almost entirely on Cullen's 'dynamic' presence in the pocket." - The Bleacher Blog  
_

~Bella~

"It's destiny, Bella. Swear to God, pure destiny." Alice's awed voice had me jerking forward and leaning into the space between the two front seats of her bright yellow Camaro for a better view.

Alice sat behind the wheel of the car. I'd claimed the back, leaving Meagan the passenger seat for an easier exit. Usually the teen caught a ride with her friend Shawna after practices, but when needed we offered up our chauffeuring services. We'd stopped at a light a couple of blocks from Meagan's turn off when Alice made her almost reverent declaration. Eyes glued straight ahead, the best friend wavelength in full effect, I squinted at the car that had fixed Alice's rapt fascination.

Edward Cullen turned from the cross street into the road ahead of us. Normally, I'm not sure I would have even noticed who sat behind the wheel of the dilapidated white car. Tonight, with the sun making its last stand in the twilight sky and the streetlights already glowing, the old Volvo station wagon snagged my attention as easily as it had fixed Alice's. It was possible the smoke puffing from under the hood helped. Or more likely, our hot guy radar pinged on the driver, who then held us spellbound.

"I think that car is dying," Meagan observed, proving she was not oblivious to our mesmerized stares.

No sooner had the words left her lips than the vehicle pulled over to the right shoulder, wispy white smoke trailing behind like a white flag of surrender.

I fought a full-blown groan. Yes, my obsession with the quarterback had bordered on stalkerdom the last two years, but it'd been from a comfortable distance. There was no chance – zilch, zero – that Alice would allow this moment of "destiny" to pass at a _comfortable_ distance. The traffic light turned green, and Alice eased the Camaro up behind the Volvo. She practically bounced behind the wheel while I surreptitiously avoided eye contact with the curious Meagan.

Edward unfolded from behind the driver's seat, breaking my trance. The silence in our car was deafening, but the moment felt surreal. Not two hours ago, I'd promised Alice I'd be "open" to Edward Cullen. While I hadn't thought out exactly what being "open" really entailed—this would require a pile of M&Ms and a suitably dramatic playlist in the solitary comfort of my dorm room—it had definitely not meant running across said guy before I'd had a chance to do so. It definitely didn't mean picking up said guy off the side of the road.

Alice lowered her window as he approached. "Need a ride?"

Even in the uneven light of the passing car headlights, I could see the scowl on his face. Maybe he'd see Alice, not recognize her from class and decline the lift. I held my breath, unsure if I wanted him to recognize her or not. My gaze fixed on the jut of his jaw as his expression tightened. "Yeah," he said in his quiet voice.

Alice scooched forward until she had practically mounted the steering wheel, the seat flipped forward to bounce against her back. A second later, she realized that Edward, over six feet of well-honed physique, would have no chance of squeezing through that tiny space. As Alice hopped out and shoved the seat all the way forward and he folded his long frame into the seat beside me, I stared at Meagan's seatback and tried to remember to breathe.

One of the many things flitting through my brain involved doing my best friend bodily harm. It was unlikely I would ever actually follow through with any of the twisted fantasies currently coursing through my warped brain, but thinking about them provided a welcome distraction. Because reconciling my promise to Alice with the reality of sharing a backseat with my fantasy guy was situation overload, intoxication in an out-of-control, no-rational-thought kind of way.

"Appreciate the lift."

God, that voice, at once soft, quiet and highly masculine. My skin prickled, thoughts of best friend torture fading as my inner whore perked up.

Alice flipped the car into gear and we eased back into traffic. "Campus okay?"

"Yeah."

"We've got to drop Meagan off, then to the Alpha Gam house."

"Works for me."

Alice fiddled with the radio then, and I started to acutely feel my silence. I searched for something to say, nervously flipping the zipper on my beat up derby equipment bag over and over.

"Seattle Slammers?"

My gaze snapped up to find Edward watching my actions, his eyes on the faded logo decorating the bag. The intermittent illumination from the street lamps lit and shadowed him in an oddly mesmerizing rhythm. Somehow the shadowy flashes seemed to give me enough of a respite—my own shadow to hide within—that I managed to drag my tongue into functioning. "Yeah," I said. "Seattle Slammers. Local roller derby team."

"Thought you had to be butch to sign up for that shit."

"Are you serious?" Surely not. My nervousness died a quick death. Was I suddenly trapped in the car with a bigoted relic? "Did you really just say butch?"

He slouched deeper into the seat, his torso angled to almost face me. "Yup."

Meagan snapped at him from the front seat. "Cliché much, dude?"

Words tumbled from my lips before the realization fully formed in my mind, a mumbled disappointment. "I think you've just ruined my image of Edward Cullen, star quarterback."

Edward bumped his knees against Alice's seatback, searching and failing to find a way to get his large frame comfortable in the minimal space. He responded to Meagan's censure, but his heavy-lidded green gaze didn't stray from me. His low rumble held a hint of challenge when he spoke. "Tell me there's at least a lot of skin and I'm in."

That comment cinched it. He was yanking my chain, had to be. And being so completely un-PC about it. Part of me was intrigued that he would go out of his way to be an ass. Another part couldn't let him get away with the derogatory comment, especially with sweet, conflicted Meagan in the front seat. "Making a joke of someone's sexual preference is inappropriate."

"So no girl on girl action down at the derby?"

Alice giggled nervously as she steered into Meagan's driveway.

"Ha." Edward smirked. "That's a guilty laugh."

I held my tongue as Meagan leapt out of the car, slamming the door behind her. It wasn't like her to be so unsociable, but then she knew as well as Alice and I who Edward was. Having a local hero act like a ignorant moron probably incited her to rudeness. I felt her pain. "That," I snapped as we pulled out of the girl's neighborhood and toward campus, "was not a guilty laugh. That was a silly girl-in-car-with-Edward-Cullen giggle."

"Bella!" Alice shrieked.

He barked out a surprised laugh. "Then why aren't you giggling?"

I knew he was arrogant. Had actually thought I'd found it attractive in the past. Experiencing that arrogance first-hand was eye-opening. "Guess I'm immune."

"Or you're the cliché."

My fantasy guy was questioning my sexuality. How had this happened? I gritted my teeth, leaned forward and forgot all about hiding in the shadows. "Being a lesbian is not the only reason a girl wouldn't giggle in your presence. Maybe I'm just not a giggler."

Up front, Alice snorted, eyes wide in the rear view mirror. Edward gave another low laugh, rocking Alice's seat. The innately masculine sound rippled over my senses and left a heated awareness in its wake. I wanted to make him laugh again, but hated this conversation.

"That snort says your girl there doesn't believe you any more than I do. All girls are gigglers and hair tossers and eyelash flutterers. It's in your DNA or something."

"I never-" Alice sputtered.

I cut her off. "Okay, then. Guess I just save my giggles for those that I actually find amusing. Not overly arrogant, ridiculously ignorant football players we find stranded on the side of the road."

Light flashed, illuminating the perfect angles of his face. Was this really happening? Was this really me? In a verbal spar with Edward Cullen over his use of a ludicrous slur, one I wasn't sure he hadn't used purposely for its ability to incite high emotion? For the first time in two years, I felt as though my mind could function in his presence—angrily, yet functioning. But I wasn't this bitchy girl. And I hated the possibility that he could be that kind of guy. One who would use a word like butch in the most awful way. I wanted him down from the pedestal on which I'd placed him, but not in the gutter of the irredeemable.

He knew how girls responded to him, accepted it as normal and typical for all girls. And to be honest, until this moment, I had probably been worse than most. After all, for two long years I'd never even been able to speak to him, much less flutter my lashes. I struggled to pull my thoughts together. I'd locked Edward Cullen into a perfectly imperfect fantasy man. That fantasy did not mesh well with the jerk beside me. A jerk who either possessed a clever tongue and sadistically teasing mind or a moronic, backwards thinker.

But, crap, now I was fixated on the idea of his clever tongue. My inner whore did a sultry little wiggle that had my belly tightening.

"So you're saying you don't find me amusing...?"

"Bella," Alice chimed in helpfully.

"...Bella." His clever tongue curled around my name, turning it into the most erotic of invitations. And just like that, it wasn't just my inner whore doing the wiggling. All thought flitted away, leaving me vacant-eyed and mystified.

"Bella's prejudiced," Alice inserted, drawing Edward's attention and giving me a moment to regroup. Thank God for Alice.

"Prejudiced how?" he asked, his unnerving regard turning again in my direction. We'd nearly made it back to campus, finally turning down Sorority Row, and I didn't know if I was relieved or disappointed.

My heart started pounding, and I lunged across the space between the two front seats and fumbled with the music. What was Alice trying to do? Mortify me? I had no idea what buttons I was pushing, but when the harsh beats of Ace Hood and Bugatti pounded into the cab of the car, I was grateful. I fell back into my seat, only to groan when Alice instantly turned the volume down.

Good God, from bitch to spaz. End me now.

"Any...um...how to say...feminine wiles? Yeah, feminine wiles, are lost on her. She doesn't see the point and thinks those that do—the gigglers and hair flippers, I mean—are using such manipulations to distract people from some other deficit in their personality." Alice spoke like she was reading from a script. Something in her tone had me staring at the back of her head. I didn't think I'd ever said anything straight out like that before, but yeah, that was pretty much what I thought. And yeah, I'd been at the head of the anti-plastic brigade, who were the worst of the offenders. But the hint of censure in Alice's voice had me wondering if I had at some point offended my best friend. She could be flirty and if I thought about it, yes, she could flip her hair with the best of them, but it had never seemed wrong or manipulative when she did it.

"Yeah, that is a prejudice."

My attention snapped back to Edward. He spoke, hooded green gaze lazily coasting over my entire length, cramped up behind the vacant passenger seat. "We all have our strong points, those things we do well. Nothing wrong with making the most of what God gave you." His gaze lingered on my chest and like a match to a flame, my temper ignited.

"Yeah, like a brain?"

"And tight t-shirts and short shorts."

I immediately thought of Irina and her cleavage, but before I could articulate a response, Edward cocked a dark brow and made another pointed perusal, lingering this time on my legs which were propped against the seat in front of me. Surely in this position he couldn't really see enough of me to judge? But the way his eyes drifted, the way his lips slid up in a seemingly appreciative curl, I felt displayed, revealed...and, shamefully, flattered.

"You may talk your shit, Bella, but you still manage to put on a show, don't you?"

Suddenly, the car came to a jarring stop and my bag slid off the backseat. Still flustered, I instinctively reached for it. My head knocked into his as he did the same.

"Oh!"

"Shit." He laughed, hauling my bag back onto the seat between us. "Hard head there, babe."

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, heard Alice laugh as she launched herself out of the car. She spoke into the open door. "You have no idea."

In seconds, Edward had the seatback up and had hauled himself out of the car. With a two-fingered salute, he was gone.

~FotW~

Not much later, I crawled into bed in the quiet of my dorm. A splash of light from an all-night streetlight outside bled across the ceiling, giving me something to stare at as I tried to calm my mind. My roommate shifted on her bed across the room, the sound familiar, welcome. Angela, my roommate, was turning out to be a great one, and we were slowly becoming friends. My first year at UDub, Alice had been my roommate. Last year Alice moved into her sorority house and I'd been stuck with a crazy wench I preferred to forget ever existed. While many students moved on to apartments or sorority houses, I liked the dorm. It was simple, uncomplicated.

I stared up at the unchanging swath of faded light, thinking that it was easy to be brave in the shadowy confines of Alice's car, but come tomorrow, I'd have to face Edward in the harsh light of class.

Would he acknowledge me? And would it be as a member of his study group, or as the girl who helped give him a lift home? One had trouble speaking even a simple syllable while the other laced every syllable with snark. Neither was really me. Of course, I didn't think he'd recognize me as one of the girls in his study group. He was cocky enough to probably think nothing of getting in a car with two female strangers—even though we were obviously students. Grams would say something about sacrificing common sense for a pretty face.

Except reliving my angry responses to his offensive lesbian comments made me more and more certain he'd been messing with me the entire time. If that were true, even Grams could appreciate a sense of humor that poked at my sometimes overly serious nature, if not his particular vocabulary choice.

There at the end, when he'd purposefully given me the once over—what was that about? There was no way I could have been considered attractive at that moment. I'd challenge any woman to look good straight off the rink, sweaty and slumming in grungy shorts and tank. And yet, his gaze had lit with some unreadable glint as he'd eyed me in the backseat.

I needed to calm down. I was overanalyzing something that had no meaning. No depth. Yes, in my world, being assigned to Cullen's study group was momentous. Being in the car that gave him a lift bordered on life changing. For him, it was an average couple of days, par for the course.

Grams had always accused me of being a bit dramatic, even reactionary.

Tomorrow I had to begin to live up to my promise to Alice and be "open" to Edward. I still didn't know what that meant. I did know that, teasing or authentic, I'd enjoyed the verbal sparring tonight. I'd enjoyed his perusal even more. Part of me shuddered, chafing at the notion of succumbing to his gross female objectification. But a larger chunk of me savored the idea that Edward thought I could put on a show.

~FotW~

I jogged every single morning. And I hated it. I hated getting up early or staying up late. I hated dragging my lazy behind around the campus trails, getting all hot and sweaty and disgusting.

But I absolutely loved Pinkie's coffees. With real cream and sugar. Maybe even a chocolate chip muffin in the mornings. I loved each and every one of those calories, so I jogged. I'd clawed my way out of bed bright and early this morning, paid my dues in sweat, just so I could stop by Pinkie's on the way to my A&M class. The first class where Edward might actually acknowledge my presence.

I crossed campus quickly, making a beeline for the most beloved coffee cart in the Pacific northwest as the rare Seattle sun peeked through clouds and shared a little more heat and optimism for the day. The quad was packed, as usual. I skirted around slower students, angling in front of the fountain. My gaze caught on a familiar form making his way in the same direction, toward Mackenzie Hall for class. I would be cutting off for Pinkie's, parked at the doors of the Odegaard Library, though. But even with those intentions, my pace slowed and my fingers tightened around my messenger bag. In another month, the skies would turn more overcast and drizzly, but for now sunlight glinted off Edward's hair, as if even those rays couldn't resist his unholy charisma.

Ye gods, there I went into romance novel metaphors again.

"Bella!"

My name, loud and jarring, ripped through my thoughts and yanked me to a stop. I turned guiltily toward the sound. Mike waved from the other side of the fountain, walking quickly toward me, swerving around the people between us. Including Edward Cullen. His actions sucked in more than just my attention, and I felt a ridiculous blush fill my cheeks as everyone circling the fountain looked between us, including Edward, before finally, _thankfully_, going back to ignoring us.

I drew on deep reserves and kept my gaze from flitting back to Edward and instead followed Mike's progress. He had a grin on his face that struck me as a bit goofy**,** a bit expectant. Why would he be waving me down? Before Tuesday, we'd never exchanged a word. Did he think we would be besties now that we shared a project?

He fell into step beside me. "You're on the Dean's List."

He said it with glee. I squinted a sidelong look at him.

"And honor society." He huffed a satisfied sigh before adding, "Between the two of us, this project will be cake."

I ducked my head, letting my hair fall along my face, giving myself a moment longer to respond. The project would be fine regardless, I thought. "I'm sure it'll be great."

Mike snorted. "If you and I do all the work, yeah."

The scent of rain lingered in the air, even this early in the day, even with the pretty sunshine. My mind drifted as I struggled to find what to say. In a school this size, it was easy to blend in, and I took every advantage of that fact. Being singled out for anything, including scholastic aptitude, annoyed me, reminded me too much of home where my family never failed to be a spectacle. I missed Alice and her ability to buffer and distract. My eyes glanced off the grass hemming in the sidewalk, bright and green. Vibrant. Thriving. I semi-repeated myself, lacking anything better to add, but Mike seemed to require a response. "I'm sure things'll be fine."

I didn't have to look over at him; I could feel his enthusiastic nod. He reminded me of an ungainly puppy, Great Dane or something equally awkward. Suddenly, I felt more comfortable. He _was_ awkward, I realized. In our first study session, he'd been quiet. I'd assumed that was his general persona, but now he exuded perky energy.

"I get why you didn't say anything Tuesday, but you should know I was valedictorian at my high school, too." He laughed loudly, knocking his shoulder against mine as we crossed the quad.

"Yeah?" I murmured, stumbling a little on my heeled sandals. Cullen was still walking somewhere behind us. I knew it, could feel a buzz just under my skin, a weird sort of awareness I had whenever he was near that just seemed heightened after last night. I didn't know exactly where he was, of course, but just knowing he was back there somewhere made me shy away from talking about myself. About how I'd come to be at UW.

I'd graduated high school a year early as a seventeen-year-old valedictorian, and found myself eligible for free-ride scholarships to several schools based on academics. My grandmother asked me to stay close, to attend a school near to home. It was the first time I ever purposefully went against her wishes. She'd been disappointed when I elected to come here, all the way across the continent to Seattle. But I needed to be as far away from home as I could manage, as far away from my past as I could manage, and that meant leaving Georgia.

"I about lost it when I saw the group coming together in class. I mean, Irina? And Cullen...ugh. But then I researched you and, _dude,_ I was like _jackpot_. You've got every academic achievement I've ever heard of. My dad was ecstatic about my making the dean's list last semester. Your family must be insane."

Yeah, I thought. My mother was insane, which is why Grams kept my reins tight. And yeah, she liked my achievements. Expected them, even. But all I said to Mike was, "Yeah, they're pretty happy."

"Seriously, though, I'm not worried about this project now."

We'd reached Pinkies Coffee Cart and I latched onto the distraction, inhaling deeply and savoring the secondhand caffeine high. I hated thinking about my family and hated people knowing about my academics. I didn't keep things a secret, and Alice certainly teased me enough about being book smart and socially inept, claiming I was one bad fashion choice away from Complete Nerd, but people looked at you differently when they thought you were smarter than them. I was grateful for how easy classwork came and worked hard not to let school become everything in my life. Back home, I'd had no social life. Grams and me and that was it. And I loved Grams to bits, I did. But I knew there was more to be enjoyed, and while I'd never been ostracized, I'd never really been a part of things, either. I'd promised myself to take full advantage of the opportunity to reinvent myself, make friends and experience being _normal_.

With my new promise to Alice, I was well on my way, I thought.

Mike caught my attention again. "Between you and me, we'll ace this thing. Actually, Cullen's first year, he didn't suck, either..."

He jabbered on and on about how unhelpful he expected our study partners to be in language that was harsh in the way of nerds the world over. In the middle of a particularly ripping tirade against jocks and preferential treatment, I felt _him_ come to stand behind me. Felt the heat of his presence take up space behind me. I would have been hard-pressed to suck in a solid breath had I tried. I wanted to shut Mike up. More than anything, I wanted to shut him up but knew the instant I tried, it would simply draw more attention to his words.

Was that an angry heat or just Edward's normal in-your-face presence? I had no way of knowing and absolutely refused to turn and look. My equilibrium wouldn't be able to handle such up close and personal proximity without the armor of a heavily caffeinated beverage, not so soon after last night. But Mike seemed nice, I thought, just a bit of an academic snob. If Cullen was angry, insulted, would he get physical with the poor guy?

Mike remained oblivious, chattering on and on about how he always researched his study partners. Who did that sort of thing? He said something about his dad being excited for him to be on a project with me and wasn't Seattle so different from Atlanta? He made my Edward stalking seem positively amateurish.

My infrequent mmmhmms must have been enough to keep up my side of the conversation, but I wondered how that could be. And how could I get him to just be quiet? How much more did he know about me and how much more did he have to tell me he knew about me? He'd gone from insulting Edward and Irina to reciting my biography, and as much as I wanted to extricate myself from this one-sided conversation, I wanted my coffee more. No way could I make it through this morning without it, so no way I could just walk away.

The line was long and winding, as usual, but it moved fast enough and every minute or so, we shuffled forward. The heat at my back didn't change and my anxiety began to escalate. I vacillated between hoping Mike would reveal more of his embarrassing research of my academic history and avoid angering Edward to wishing he would stop pointing out all the things that made me different. People bustled in and out of the library, moving into the square beyond us, but Mike kept up his chatter, reciting some award he saw I had and wondering how I'd decided on my essay topic. Really?

A huge, built guy strode past us, his chin lifted and a big smile on his face. My eyes rounded. He seemed to be looking right at me, but then I realized he was sending some sort of coded chin-lift to Edward over my shoulder. Mike still seemed unaware that the guy he was including in his running off at the mouth was also behind us.

"I looked up Cullen's grades, you know, to see if he'd be contributing anything to our group. Believe it or not, he has a respectable average, even after last year. He's got to be paying for it."

A rough laugh sounded behind us, heavy and dangerous. And sharp enough to finally penetrate Mike's happy buzz. I practically felt his shudder when he realized the six-foot-plus guy hulking behind us was the subject of his insulting diatribe.

"Man, seriously?" Edward's two little words, loaded with threat, finally silenced Mike's rambling.

Slanting a look at the slender boy beside me, I saw him clench his eyes together before bravely turning to face Cullen. "Umm..."

"Fuck 'umm,' punk."

Some weird sense of nerd loyalty, mixed liberally with ghoulish curiosity, had me turning with Mike to face the scary-sounding quarterback. The lazy charm that had threaded his voice last night was gone, replaced by a low growl that still managed to stir me.

"You know, man, I'd figure a smart guy like you would realize I'm kinda bigger than him. Probably faster. Definitely stronger." He paused, letting his words sink in for full effect. "And yet, here you are. Fucking with the big, dumb jock."

Cullen seemed to loom into our space, though he didn't step any closer. His words turned soft and menacing. "So even a little punk ass dumbfuck like you should be able to pick out the stupid one in this scenario."

Mike shrank into himself, face pale, scrawny chest rising and falling erratically with his rising panic. I faced Edward, wondering what to say, what to do to make this whole situation unhappen. But he barely spared me a look, his wrath focused entirely on a quaking Mike.

Alice said my problem wasn't really shyness, but rather a simple matter of inexperience. At this moment, I would have to agree with her. I'd never faced down a bully, even one with the right to be angry. I'd been raised by a grandmother who'd faced more than a few disappointments, not the least of which was her daughter, and she'd shared more than a few life lessons. None of them included how to talk down an infuriated, six-foot-plus quarterback.

Grams had guarded her quiet life tooth and nail. So yes, I was sheltered, to say the least. But she'd imbued me with a quiet curiosity and a good sense of right and wrong. Would Edward Cullen, resident football god, really crush scrawny little Mike like he seemed to be threatening? If he tried, could I stop him?

He moved up on Mike, closer, darkly threatening, stark menace in his every exhalation.

I sidestepped, putting myself halfway in front of Mike. "I think-"

Edward's gaze fixed on me. I tilted my head back to meet his stare and saw something flash in his hard, green eyes. The hair on the back of my neck stood up straight and my tongue slipped out to moisten suddenly dry lips. His gaze dipped down. My lips burned and something began to slowly unfurl in my belly. An awareness skirted the edges of my consciousness, but I couldn't quite grasp it until this situation with Mike was less volatile.

"I think," I began again, my voice barely above a whisper, "that Mike understands he made a mistake."

The anger faded abruptly from his face. His lips quirked up in a hint of a smirk. "That so, derby girl?"

That something in my belly gained momentum and warmth seeped through me. "I'm thinking so."

He lifted his hand and I held my breath, waiting for that hand to close into a large fist. But it didn't. Instead, he reached past me, flicked his fingers over Mike's shoulder as though dusting him off.

I felt my eyes widen as this brought him close enough for me to get a whiff of his spearmint gum, and miracle of miracles, I held his burning green gaze when he shifted that intensity back to me.

"I'll give you this one, punk. I owe Bella." The corners of his eyes crinkled and a wicked grin stretched his lips. My pulse raced. He stepped back, gave me a lingering, blatant once over. There was no doubt that he did it to goad me, just as he had, I realized, last night. "Still working your shit, huh, derby girl?"

Just in case I'd missed it the first time, he made a show of licking his upper lip and staring at my legs. My plain brown shorts, slouchy gray tank and creamy lace cardigan were simple and what Alice called hippie chic. Under his frankly appreciative appraisal, my toes curled in my sandals.

"Working your shit. And, babe, I like your tattoo."

And as abruptly as the tensions had risen moments ago, they dissipated. Edward left the coffee line, falling in with a group of students and making his way toward the building housing our class. I heard Mike inhale a shuddering breath. That feeling in my belly melted away. I didn't really understand what had just happened, but it felt like the start of something.

Edward disappeared from view inside the building and I shifted uneasily from foot to foot. A certain Smashing Pumpkins song played faintly in my mind. I was a breath away from looking down, to eying the artwork I knew like the back of my hand. I resisted, but as the familiar riff played in my imagination, the tattooed notes burned along the skin of my foot, hot, intense, portentous.

* * *

A/N: I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Project Team Beta-specifically to Jenny and Sweetishbubble for their beta expertise on this chapter. Another treat hosted by PTB is their SmutU online course, through which I met jayhawkbb, author and teacher extraordinaire. She graciously read, provided feedback, and made some fantastic suggestions for this chapter, too. And lastly, thank you, A, my wonderful co-worker who read and reassured. You rock! Of course, I am physically incapable of not tinkering, so any errors, poor additions, whathaveyous, are all my own.

Thanks for reading!


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